


Eat You Up

by showmeurteef



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Eating out, Food, In more ways than one, M/M, Morally Grey Characters, background that they're killers but how/why not revealed, blood mention, brief smut scene, jaejungs love language is vaguely cannibalistic comments, sorry 4 making fun of mark 4 being so sincere n naive, stream eat you up by boa, trans jaehyun, violent metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23584606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/showmeurteef/pseuds/showmeurteef
Summary: Jaehyun likes to remind Jungwoo that ‘eat the rich’ isn’t meant literally. Jungwoo likes to remind Jaehyun that he can eat whomever he pleases, thank you, with a suggestive look.murder duo jaehyun n jungwoo have a spicy diner dateextended/explained warnings within
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Kim Jungwoo
Comments: 13
Kudos: 55





	Eat You Up

**Author's Note:**

> warnings:  
> \- a murder takes place before this fic & it's very briefly mentioned a couple times  
> \- ignore that they definitely leave evidence or w/e behind <33 does this look like csi to u  
> \- i've got a few ideas for how/why jaewoo kill but since none of that is explored here, they're just morally grey  
> \- all of the violence is metaphoric and/or just brief thoughts from either of them  
> \- im just experimenting so that's why all of the violence is pretty ambiguous background stuff ! so. as always::  
> lmk if u need anything else explained/tagged <33

Sun licks at Jaehyun’s nape, sinking into his brain and dripping down his back. Killing always puts him on edge, teetering somewhere between hyper and pissed, and all this summer heat threatens to topple him over. Hours worth of sweat sticking and tickling between his shoulder blades. The ache of adrenaline coursing through him. Ghost punches still pulsing on his fists. 

Jaehyun sighs at the (very recently vacated) home’s totally shadeless facade, turns back to the driveway, gazes wearily at the warbling heatwaves, sighs again. He checks his phone; nothing. He cranes his neck to look past the heatwaves; nothing. Jungwoo should’ve been here fifteen, _twenty_ minutes ago. 

He isn’t a super punctual person (Jaehyun can count on two hands the amount of times he’s received a “I’m so, _so_ sorry, but I was watching the latest Buzzfeed Unsolved ep— have you seen it? Oh my god, _Jaehyun_ , we have to— Yeah, so, anyways, I got _so_ sucked into it that I decided to look up the missing dude, and then the wiki was, like, super sad and twelve miles long, so I got to the references and— Right, no, yeah, I’ll be there in ten I _swear_ ” phone call), but he’s only ever _this_ late on purpose. Jaehyun would feel a little suspicious if he weren’t so damn sweaty. Plus, if he steps too close to irritation, Jungwoo’s eyes will get all droopy with guilt and—

Before Jaehyun can sink too far into wondering how he’d balance Jungwoo’s tragic mood with his own post-murder grossness (both of which make him want to peel his skin off in different sorts of ways), tires screech in the distance. Jaehyun doesn’t bother to strain his vision through the massive, sweltering front yard; a familiar sorbet head is already careening around the corner. Convertible. Sunglasses. Positively twinkling with self-satisfaction. The car comes to an abrupt stop right in front of Jaehyun.

“Hey, handsome. Going my way?” 

And, yeah, that smile tells Jaehyun that he’s twenty minutes late on purpose. Nobody makes _this_ much of an entrance by accident— well, not Jungwoo, anyway. His noodle body should look ridiculous crammed into his mini cooper convertible all wind whipped pastels and obnoxious guffawing, but he’s just...

Jaehyun tosses his not-exactly-meant-for-the-gym bag into the backseat, smiling and shaking his head mostly to himself, even though he knows Jungwoo is watching very, _very_ closely for more of a reaction than that. It’s just that he’s tired. And sweaty. And the actively attention-grabbing Jungwoo racing into his sticky, sore brain _shoves_ him into a crystal clear pool of adrenaline. And, most importantly, adrenaline makes Jaehyun a little less than level-headed. (Sometimes, he likes to play with his food.)

He runs a hand through his hair, grimaces at the sweat pooling on his scalp, and squints at the sunlight reflecting off of the car windshield. Or, maybe, he runs a hand through his hair, clenches his jaw, and narrows his eyes in a show of fierce sexiness. Either way, Jungwoo is into grimy brownish hair and the general layout of Jaehyun’s face. (Dude’s sculpted like a Lizard Adonis, and sweat and tension only add to his godliness.)

He pushes the car door open for Jaehyun with a practiced flourish, a single raised eyebrow barely visible between his sunglasses and bangs. He catches the glint in Jaheyun’s eye, even as he paints his face in bland, restrained amusement. 

Wordlessly, he slips into the front seat. Clips his seat belt. Blinks at Jungwoo.

Jungwoo only responds to the cool distance with a lightspeed pout. Sometimes, every millenia or so, Jungwoo clips his adorably overbearing attitude with a more gentle determination. And, sometimes, every millenia or so (for reasons that are _entirely_ beyond Jungwoo), Jaehyun refuses to indulge Jungwoo’s whims— right away, at least.

“Let’s go get milkshakes, Jaehyunnie.” He breaks the silence with his sickly sweet voice, grabs a t-shirt out of thin air, and deposits it in Jaehyun’s lap. He shoots Jaehyun a smile even sweeter than his voice. “For the mess.”

Jaehyun tilts his head at Jungwoo. He usually saves the sugar-coated act for provoking some kind of reaction out of strangers or victims (He likes to play with his food, too. Jaehyun likes to remind Jungwoo that ‘eat the rich’ isn’t meant literally. Jungwoo likes to remind Jaehyun that he can eat whomever he pleases, thank you, with a suggestive look), so Jaehyun figures the last twelve seconds of sitting here, sweating, put _him_ on the menu.

Jungwoo doesn’t tilt his head back— he stopped trying to separate the suave Jaehyun, the marshmallow Jaehyun, the competitive Jaehyun, and the reptilian Jaehyun long ago. He’s just... Jaehyun. All tangled up ( _especially_ when he wants to be), but making peace with his Gordian Knot of a personality doesn’t change the fact that Jungwoo has needs.

Jaehyun nods. Peels off his sweat and blood soaked shirt to exchange it for the new one. Doesn’t comment on the way Jungwoo’s hands tighten around the steering wheel at the sight of Jaehyun’s scarred, ridged torso, or on how Jungwoo’s brought him a shirt identical to his own. Unusual levels of cuteness _and_ couple outfits— a sour taste settles on the back of Jaehyun’s tongue, but, as always, it’s strangely pleasant. (When life gives you lemons, and all that.) 

He gestures for Jungwoo to drive. Rather than grumble at Jaehyun’s restraint, Jungwoo thrusts the car into drive and peels away from the mansion. 

Jaehyun can’t help but snort at the flaunting, and Jungwoo practically bounces in his seat at the barely audible response, all billowing hair and shiny smiles. Like he’s a charged wire and attention— _Jaehyun’s_ attention is a summer rain. It’s almost endearing enough to make Jaehyun tell him that he looks very queer-indie-romcom-shot-on-a-Super 8. Almost, but...

As the drive goes on, Jungwoo’s bouncing slows and his lips tighten, eyes flickering impatiently between Jaehyun and the road. His t-shirt sleeves are rolled up to his shoulders. The sunlight dances on his “J” necklace. Drivers, pedestrians, even _dogs_ can’t help but glance in his direction. (He’s so hot. What the fuck.)

Jungwoo cranks up the radio, putting on as much of a show as the Laws Of The Road (meaning: the bare minimum amount of focus that Jungwoo _must_ afford to the menial task of going 15 over in Saturday afternoon traffic) allow, but Jaehyun’s pointer finger _barely_ taps along to the beat against his knee. Jungwoo sprinkles in witty road commentary, even throws in a “Road work ahead? Well, I sure hope it does!” for good measure, but Jaehyun’s short laughter gets swept into the wind.

A tire crunches painfully over a turn that’s more pothole than asphalt. A parent hauls their sticky child backwards to make room for Jungwoo’s speedy little death trap. Jaehyun’s eyes widen at their destination’s unlit neon sign as they zip into a parking space.

“ _Here?_ ”

This place has all the grease-clogged white bread and plasticky cheese slices of a typical diner, but coated in a thick layer of 50’s retro decor. Every inch of the exterior that can be red or chrome, is. Vintage cars collect dust beside the entryway (like stone lions outside castles and libraries, except, cooler? less cool?) to greet you on your way to checkered tile and squeaky pleather seats and Elvis’ Golden Records on loop. Plus, their milkshakes aren’t even that good. Jaehyun levels his gaze with the bright red doors in mild distaste.

“Here.” Jungwoo is already out of the car and halfway up the front steps when he replies, tossing Jaehyun a pretty smile over his shoulder. Jaehyun follows, letting his own smile grow once Jungwoo turns to the host and persuades them to squeeze them into two counter seats with a toss of his dreamy head.

Jaehyun’s legs protest as he straddles a tiny, glittery, squeaky, red pleather stool at the fountain counter (too much sitting and standing after too much crouching and kicking), but he barely notices it over the sheer glee in Jungwoo’s voice.

“ _Mark!_ ” he squawks, pushes his sunglasses into his pastel hair in a way that’s both sexy and bubbly, and slaps both palms on the less-than-clean counter. “How’s my _most favoritest_ soda fountain employee today?”

“Hey, guys! Long time no see.” Mark meets, then, immediately retreats from Jungwoo’s sparkling gaze. He tucks his bangs beneath his ridiculous little paper hat, smiles lightly at Jaehyun, and even grabs a notepad from his shirtfront pocket (despite that he must have Jungwoo and Jaehyun’s usual orders memorized by now) all for the sake of avoiding Jungwoo’s wiles. “Did you guys, uh, know that we’re actually called soda _jerks?_ Funny, right? Haha.”

His laugh is short and genuine— _painfully_ so. Jaehyun hopes the pity doesn’t reach his eyes; Mark may not be rich, but Jungwoo’s staring him down like an order of Love Me Tender Chicken Strips.

“Oh, Mark!” Jungwoo’s neck arches _just_ so when he laughs. Mark blinks rapidly. “I never knew you could be so... risqué.”

 _Risqué_ . Everything about the way Jungwoo says the word makes it sound much worse than the low-hanging fruit this whole conversation is. Boiled down and mixed with just enough sugar to take the horrifically innocent mark from jerk as in: soda jerk, to a meanie, to a certain dirty act that someone much dirtier than him might do to themselves or —god _forbid_ — to someone else.

The corner of Jungwoo’s lip curls upwards. Jaehyun swallows a heavy sigh. (With great power comes great responsibility or whatever, but Jungwoo’s not one for moral platitudes— for morals in general, really.)

The thought that Mark is so easy to rile up about the sinful act of masturbation fills Jungwoo’s head with strawberry soda. (All Jungwoo did was curve his head around one single word! Is he magic? _Something_ supernatural here _must_ be going on because look at him! Look at what he’s done! Does his _effect_ on people know no human bounds?!) Jungwoo has to ball his hands into fists beneath the counter to keep from pinching Mark’s reddening cheeks, or worse.

Jaehyun spares Mark whatever agony Jungwoo’s dreaming up for him by ordering for them both and allowing Mark to skitter off and press his heated face against the ice cream machine.

“You shouldn’t taunt the guy.” Jaehyun rests his chin on his hand, and scans the vintage memorabilia-plastered walls for nothing in particular. A framed vintage Coke ad (and a sexist one at that; Jaehyun’s bruised knuckles pulse) reflects the tragic image of Jungwoo swiveling slowly on the stool, his hands tucked beneath his thighs and a pout swelling on his face.

“I’m just messing around...”

“He’s too nice, Woo—“

“And _oblivious._ ”

“Which is _why_ you should leave him alone.” Jaehyun slides a disapproving look Jungwoo’s way, and spies the regret already starting to brew within him. (He resists the urge to peel off his own skin.)

The ache in Jaehyun’s hands pulses through his entire body with every passing Elvis Croon.™ The clean shirt helped with some of the grossness, but sweat still clings to the divot of his spine. Summer and murder go together like pickles and mouthwash; it’s really too bad that adding magic Jungwoo powder to the mix makes everything taste so sweet.

Some other jerk (Funny, right? Haha.) drops off their orders, and Jaehyun’s heart shatters a bit as he imagines an irrevocably embarrassed Mark hiding out in the kitchen, building a dirty-thought-shame fort out of vats of lard. Jungwoo’s heart shatters a lot.

Making a mental note to not use poor, defenseless (deliciously naive) Marks for his own gain in the future, Jungwoo wraps two pretty hands around his obscenely pink milkshake. His eyes flit over the ammunition. A mound of whipped cream. A glossy cherry. A wide straw.

His little tongue catches the straw first, slowly flattening under it, before his lips curve around it. He tightens his fingers around the glass. He hollows his cheeks. The neon signs speckled throughout the place render his angelic visage in technicolor. (Lewd, but in a vintage, summery way!)

Jaehyun very calmly sips his own milkshake throughout all of this, either silently pondering which off-brand ice cream this diner uses, or holding himself back from various dastardly urges. But, he _is_ watching Jungwoo, and that’s enough to make Jungwoo take the performance even further.

Jungwoo’s bunny teeth catch the end of the straw with a dangerous grin. He arches his back and shifts to perch on the edge of the seat, hands folded very sweetly in his lap. Doe eyes latched onto Jaehyun, he bends forward until his lips brush the rim of his glass.

“Jungwoo...” he sighs, more fond than frustrated.

Not caring if— no, _hoping_ that the rest of the diner is watching, Jungwoo kitten licks the whipped cream with a grin. He sweeps cream and rainbow sprinkles into his wide, wet mouth, careful to let some of it linger on his lips. He makes a noise that’s _far_ too pleased for the forgettable canned cream this place uses, and _far_ too vulgar for a place that lists the kids’ spaghetti as “pasgetti.” (Jaehyun would thank the ghost of Elvis for vacating the premises of its under 18 clientele prior to Jungwoo’s... _behavior_ , but Elvis was a dick, and knowing they’re being watched by customers who were under 18 when Elvis was still swiveling and swindling isn’t particularly comforting.)

“If Mark comes back and sees you like this...”

“What?” Jungwoo’s grin grows. He circles his wet, sticky tongue all around his mouth for good measure, lapping up everything except for one tiny speckle of cream tucked under his plush bottom lip. “Would you be jealous?”

 _Jealous_. Jungwoo says it like he’s the middle school bully who just discovered that Jaehyun keeps all of his mom’s lovey-dovey lunchbox sticky notes in his homeroom binder. Jaehyun snorts. He’d be no more jealous of Mark Lee than he is of the aging diner crowd, or of the Marilyn Monroe cardboard cutout guarding the gumball machine. But, the damn word still sticks in his veins, constricts the blood, makes it pulse faster.

Jungwoo scoops the cherry from the remains of the whipped cream, balancing it on the edge of his tongue for a moment (like a very good puppy with a treat), before pulling it all the way into his mouth. The stem sticks out from between his pursed lips. His eyebrows wiggle. Heat roots in Jaehyun’s chest and sprouts up to his ears. A dangerous decision flickers inside of his skull.

He cradles the back of Jungwoo’s head with one hand (deliciously chilled from the milkshake glass), and Jungwoo’s lungs threaten to burst. Jaehyun’s expression is softly amused, the barest hint of his dimples appearing, and then a shock of leftover adrenaline bursts through him. 

He bares his teeth. Jungwoo doesn’t breathe, doesn’t think; his whole body tenses as Jaehyun’s perfect squoval front teeth pluck the cherry stem from between Jungwoo’s lips.

And Jungwoo must’ve swallowed the cherry whole (which should make Jaehyun wonder how on earth he didn’t choke, but, _well_...) because, not a second later, he tangles his fingers in Jaehyun’s hair and tugs him forward. His open mouth crashes into Jaehyun’s closed one. 

In gross (sexy) harmony, they work to tie the cherry stem into a knot. Jaehyun folds the stem in half against his palate, catches it between his teeth, and slowly rolls the bitten stem outside of his mouth. It tickles his soft palate, it gives under his teeth. A tiny, fluorescent thing dangling out from between a set of sharp white teeth, slick with spit (like _thick blood_ between _fangs,_ Jungwoo’s brain unhelpfully supplies.) Jungwoo’s tongue shoots towards it.

Far too wet and far too eager, it stumbles over cool, smooth teeth. Jungwoo huffs each time he accidentally licks at tight ridges and jagged edges, his impatience laced with _just_ enough horniness to drive the not-Mark soda jerk back into the kitchen, too. It’s wet and heavy, so, _so close_ to being inside Jaehyun’s mouth. Jaehyun’s breath is thick against Jungwoo’s tongue.

Finally, Jungwoo’s tongue manages to coax the stem into a loop. The sound he makes as he tugs the other end of the stem with his teeth, completing the knot, is fit for a victorious knight of yore. Jungwoo’s not certain if Jaehyun is the dragon and the stem is the princess, or if it’s the other way around, but, either way, Jaehyun _laughs_ and Jungwoo would ransack a village to hear it again. Flames, screams dance across the backs of his eyelids— across the backs of _both_ of their eyelids, if the look on Jaehyun’s face is any indication.

Jaehyun lets him claim the cherry knot, tuck it beneath his tongue for safekeeping. Jungwoo presses their mouths together again, again, again. Just a dollop of whipped cream past chaste.

Jaehyun _grips_ Jungwoo’s nape. Jungwoo’s hands fly to the stool. Jaehyun’s lips quirk up against Jungwoo’s mouth. “Chaste” speeds off in one of the dusty vintage cars, Marilyn Monroe cutout gazing forlornly out of the passenger window. 

And Jungwoo doesn’t know why he never expects this, why all of his careful observation and planning never accounts for _Jaehyun_. By now, he can try to predict him —can even predict him _accurately_ — but he can’t predict the way Jaehyun makes him feel. Like a lit firecracker held midair.

“Let’s go,” Jungwoo breathes, and the words taste like sugar and strawberries and blood. Jaehyun hums into the back of Jungwoo’s throat. Tugs harshly at his bottom lip. Snaps his eyes open at the erratic heartbeat in his own chest.

“Where? We don’t have another place to hit—”

“Doesn’t matter. Anywhere— _Here._ ”

“ _Here?_ ”

Jungwoo levels Jaehyun in an overwhelmingly impatient look, as if his dick’s been leaking for _hours_ and, suddenly, Jaehyun has decided to “—run to the hardware store real quick. I can’t get that damn hacksaw —you know, the one that the last place we hit had hanging in the garage— out of my head. I’ve gotta see— yeah, yeah. Wanna come? No, not _that_ kind of come, you big baby. I’ll be back soon.” (A sensation his dick is, unfortunately, all too familiar with.) 

He grabs their check, which not-Mark must’ve dropped off somewhere between the cherry knotting and fiery kissing (Mark wouldn’t have been able to do it without at _least_ some awkward laughter.) He slaps a handful of bills down, assuming that their most recent... investment is already being transferred into their account because his head is too tingly for him to double check finances right now. He jumps off of his stool and, not bothering to slow his momentum, hauls Jaehyun up by his collar as he stomps towards the bathroom. Big, bright, pretty thing flitting between tables, skin _just_ flushed enough to encourage everyone to move the _fuck_ out of his way, to look the _fuck_ down. Jaehyun’s heart stutters.

He thinks of the mansion, suddenly. That obnoxious doorbell. That look of pure shock. Polished wine glasses and arched doorways and the sound of blood dripping, oozing over marble. He had missed Jungwoo. It was too easy to concentrate, to get lost in the viciousness of it all without that button nose and those firm fingers. Adrenaline mixes with something thicker, sweeter.

Jungwoo pulls him into the bathroom. Impatient. Demanding. But _quiet_.

Jaehyun makes a poor decision.

“I missed you, today,” he says.

And Jungwoo slams Jaehyun against the bathroom door, a shiver running down his spine as he imagines _everyone_ in the diner glancing at the closed door, unable to keep their eyes on their Chubby Checker Triple Deckers because he and Jaehyun are making far too much noise. He wants to make Jaehyun scream. He wants Jaehyun to make him sob. _Fuck_ , does he want nothing more than to feel the pulse of everyone else’s disgust and desire _throb_ throughout this shitty diner. 

“Is it okay if I...?” Jungwoo rasps, keeping Jaehyun in place with an arm pressed solidly over his chest, while his free hand hovers between his legs.

Jaehyun’s consent puffs out of his lungs, light and sugary against Jungwoo’s face. Spit slowly threading in his open mouth. Lines gathering between his forehead.

Jungwoo knows he could be more gentle as he tries to get his hands on Jaehyun— he _knows._ But the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. But the way his adam’s apple bobs down his throat. Jungwoo can’t help but press him harder and _harder_ against the door just to feel his frantic heartbeat against his forearm. (And, he also knows that Jaehyun likes not-gentle.)

Jungwoo almost gets lost in a vision of Jaehyun as a pressed flower —dusty pink and caught between shivers— but, then, Jaehyun’s lip curls and something a _little_ different than airy romanticism claws at Jungwoo’s brain.

“Hurry up,” Jaehyun breathes. “Head. Give me—”

Jungwoo lights up. Shivering and sparkling, he shoots Jaehyun a mock salute, and his face only gets brighter as Jaehyun laughs, as he spreads Jaehyun’s sore legs, as he sticks out his tongue.

“Pretty,” Jaehyun hums and runs his fingers through Jungwoo’s hair. (And Jungwoo is reluctant to give Elvis fans the satisfaction, but the faint Elvis Crooning™ leaking into the bathroom is very relatable right now. He might belt out some love-struck nonsense of his own if his mouth weren't, _well_...)

Jungwoo flattens his tongue against Jaehyun’s dick and holds it there _just_ long enough to widen big puppy eyes up at Jaehyun. _Evil_. Then, he slides it all the way back through the slick wetness. Then, he _drags_ it back up. Open mouthed, swirling, panting. 

Jaehyun’s head knocks against the door, but he doesn’t let his eyes roll away for too long. Jungwoo’s mouth is impossibly soft. (Tongue wrapped in velvet and lips stuffed with goose feathers.) But, thank _god_ , Jungwoo gets clumsy when Jaehyun’s eyes find him again, forgetting to ease up his sharp nails from his thighs and stumbling around his dick. He loses composure a little bit— a _lot_ when Jaehyun’s pupils start to swallow him whole. 

Jungwoo’s brow furrows pitifully between Jaehyun’s legs. Jaehyun never says why he holds himself back, makes _Jungwoo_ hold himself back, but he doesn’t really need to. The glinting eyes, the breathy curses trickling down onto Jungwoo’s tousled head are enough to make Jungwoo do a downright villainous twirl, press, flick with the tip of his tongue and _keep_ doing it and _exhale_ and—

Jaehyun hauls him up by his shirt collar, flimsy seams popping lightly and lactic acid tingling in Jaehyun’s arms. (Jungwoo likes not-gentle, too.) Once their gazes lock firmly together, Jungwoo’s damp chin nearly touching Jaehyun’s lips, Jaehyun cups Jungwoo’s soft face. Thumbs pressing into his pink apple cheeks. Holding him in place.

Jungwoo doesn’t blink. Just thinks of Jaehyun’s eyes on _him_. Convertible, sunglasses, smile catching the sunlight. Button nose inhaling the wind, Jaehyun’s sweat. Urgent hands pushing and grabbing at Jaehyun. Jaehyun’s cold reptile eyes on _him_ through it all. Jaehyun doesn’t blink.

The clatter of silverware, the stench of stale oil, the click of the jukebox rotating songs seep into the bathroom as they stand. Stare. Breathe. Just a few centimeters of air to share. Just one locked door between them and the outside world. 

For once, Jungwoo doesn’t know what move to make next. His hands clench uselessly at Jaehyun’s sides. His lips part, but no sounds come out. Unbalanced. Uncomposed. 

Jaehyun savors every raw second of it. Wants to poke at it, see if it’ll bleed. But...

“You taste good,” Jungwoo murmurs. “Let’s go back to that house.”

“The cops will be there by now— you hungry?”

The air between them sizzles, singes. Jaehyun inhales.

“I could get something to go.” He glances down at Jaehyun’s dick and wiggles his eyebrows. Jaehyun snorts.

“I have a better idea.” 

Shattering plates, upturned tables, the look on Mark’s face when... 

Jaehyun smiles like he belongs inside the Teletubbies sun. Jungwoo’s apple cheeks make room for a cartoon villain grin.

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand, dollface.” Jungwoo runs a cool hand through his hair and pouts à la Danny Zuko, the beginnings of another performance shimmering around him. 

Jaehyun does that fond sigh yet again, hums a little _Grease_ as he pulls his pants up to make Jungwoo squeal, and wonders just how many explosive devices one can fit in a mini cooper.

**Author's Note:**

> jaehyun/jungwoo r kinda my Writing Experimentation Pairing so ty 4 joining n ?? this might turn into a series ???  
> kudos n comments r the cherry on top of my proverbial milkshake ((i won't do anything gross w the stems tho dont worry))  
> u can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/showmeurteef) or [cc](https://curiouscat.me/showmeurteef)


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